Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

Adèle longed to meet the visitors, but that evening she couldn’t do it. I found a cold chicken and some bread, which Adèle, Sophie and I shared for our supper. Meanwhile, the guests enjoyed a long and lavish dinner in the dining room. It was past one in the morning when they went to bed, and Adèle had long since fallen asleep.

The next day, Mrs. Fairfax and I again watched from the window as the party returned from riding. Again, Mr. Rochester and Blanche rode together, and I remarked that they seemed close.

“Yes, I’m sure he admires her,” Mrs. Fairfax said.

“She is very beautiful,” I agreed.

“Well, you’ll meet her tonight,” she said. “I told Mr. Rochester how excited Adèle was, and he said you must bring her to the drawing room this evening.”

My heart felt heavy as I put on my dull dress and my tiny brooch, and tried to smooth down my hair. We waited in the drawing room while the guests ate, and passed the time by choosing a flower from one of the many vases around the room and fixing it to Adèle’s frock.

At last, the door from the dining room opened, and the ladies came in. There were only eight of them, but with their bright dresses and waving feather plumes, they seemed to fill the room. I curtsied politely but only one or two of them nodded; the rest pretended not to notice me.

Adèle wasted no time. She introduced herself in French; and soon she was surrounded by half of the ladies who cooed around her, admired her dress and repeated how pretty she was.

Meanwhile, I found the shadowiest corner I could find, hoping to get a good look at Blanche without her seeing me. I wondered whether she was that beautiful and perfect as Mrs. Fairfax had described her to me. I also wanted to watch Mr. Rochester and try to understand whether he like her or not.

Blanche was without doubt the most beautiful woman in the party. She was tall and straight, her neck and shoulders were slender, and her large dark eyes glinted brightly in the candlelight. However, there was something unpleasant about her. She had a proud look, and a sarcastic sneer on her cherry-red lips.[26]

Coffee was served, and the gentlemen entered the room. Now I could see Mr. Rochester and Blanche together, and find out what had tormented me for weeks.

As I saw Mr. Rochester, I could not help staring at him. Seeing him again made me think of the last time we had met – of that night in his room, when he had held me by the hand. The handsome gentlemen around him seemed boring to me. I cared only for Mr. Rochester’s rough features, and his intelligent glance.

I never meant to love him. I had tried to stop, but it was useless. I decided I would no doubt hide my true feelings, but I could no longer lie to myself I had none.

Now the coffee was handed around, and everyone sat down. Only Mr. Rochester still stood, leaning on the fireplace, and soon Blanche went over to join him. I was close enough to hear what they said.

“I thought you didn’t care for children,” she teased.

“I don’t, not really,” he replied.

“Then why do you keep that little girl?” she said rudely, pointing at Adèle.

“She was left for me to look after.”

“You could have sent her away to school,” Blanche said. “Then you wouldn’t need a governess and wouldn’t have to house and feed them both.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” said Mr. Rochester.

“No – you men never do,” she laughed. “But, the truth is, governesses are generally a nuisance – at least, Maria and I never had a nice one. Did we, Mama?”

At this, Blanche’s mother, Lady Ingram, exclaimed, “Heavens, don’t talk to me about governesses! Thank goodness I no longer have to employ them, now my girls are grown.”

Another, kinder-looking lady leaned over and said something quietly to Lady Ingram. Perhaps she was reminding her that a governess was in the room.

“Who cares?” the older woman snorted. And so the conversation continued, with several of the guests joining in to make rude remarks about governesses they had employed in the past, until Blanche decided it was time for some music.

“Edward, I hope you are in fine voice tonight,” she called flirtatiously, as she made her way to the piano.

“If you wish it, I will be,” smiled Mr. Rochester.

“Well, then, I do,” giggled Blanche, and she sat down and began to play – very well, I had to admit.

I decided that this was a good time to make my getaway. I was just about to slip unnoticed out of a side door, when Mr. Rochester began to sing. His voice was beautiful – a deep, pleasant bass – and he sang with great emotion. I stayed to listen until the end of the song, soaking up the warmth and feeling of every note. Then, just as the chattering began again, I left.

I noticed my sandal was loose, and stopped in the hall to retie it. As I was kneeling down, I heard footsteps. Someone had followed me. I turned round. Now I stood face to face with him: it was Mr. Rochester.

“How do you do?” he said.

“I am very well, sir.”

“Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?”

I might as well have asked him the same question.